Meaning of Mortality
by Kate Van Helsing
Summary: After messing up a job by his boss, Mephisto, the demon Nightcrawler must hide on earth. Taken in by some street kid, could he change, or his his soul corrupted to the core? I have the lamest summaries, please review!
1. Longest Intro Ever

**_SKIP TO NEXT CHAPTER IF YOU WANT , THIS IS GONNA BE BORING_**

**Disclaimer:** Stan Lee owns all.

**Summary, Kind Of:** I was on Bamf Central (best site EVER) when I came across what Nighty's creator, Dave Cockrum _originally_ wanted Kurt to be like. Nightcrawler was supposed to be a badass ultra powerful demon guy who could even pound Logan into Pixie Stix. Wolvie fans, don't go gonzo on me, I just writes what I reads. Anywho, he messed up some assignment by his boss, who I'm putting as Mephisto, and ran away to earth to escape a whirlwind of pain. Not quite sure what happens next, so I'm gonna make it all up. Kurt's the man and has way too few stories. Back me up, fellow maniacal fans.

**Character Descriptions:**

Azazel- like the guy on the cover of the video game _Prince of Persia: The Warrior Within_, only red, has a tail, pointed ears, three fingered hands, etc (I've been to Lazy Town, dude looked way too cool not to put down)

Nightcrawler- like his daddy, only blue with curly hair (I am **MAYOR** of Lazy Town, and I am ripping off _Series of Unfortunate Events.)_

Mephistopheles (Mephisto)- hard to describe, pic of him on Bamf Central under "villains", though he has been known to take different forms, I think (there is also alegendary comic of Mephisto vs KISS the rock band, though I haven't found it, _yet_)

Belasco- lightesh red, red buzz cut, small horns on forehead, red trench, shirt, vest, boots, titey whiteys, you name it

Okay, shorter than I thought, but long enough for its own chapter I guess. On to the real story, poor people who bravely sat here and read this snooze-fest.


	2. A Botched Job

And here's the real story. Enjoy. Stan Lee, please don't sue. Me wuv you. Again, just a small town girl in Utah. I have no money.

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**Chapter 1: A Botched Job**

A few miles outside of Salt Lake City, Utah a small stunt-show circus had their trailers parked pell mell around the rented lot. Their midnight show had just ended and all the performers were tired out of their minds. They were all ready for a hard-earned rest from their average day-to-day death cheating. None of them noticed the two demonic beings watching them, deep in the shadows.

Nightcrawler grinned darkly as he saw the object of tonight's assignment. Why Mephisto wanteds this man's soul in particular neither he nor Belasco had a clue. But did it really matter? _Any_ soul grabbing job was fun. Watching those poor, pathetic mortals sob their eyes out over someone in danger was the most entertaining spectacle on any of the four planes accessable to him. And they all thought it was all just a accident.

Belasco ran his tongue over his fangs, "So, what's the job again?"

Nightcrawler rolled his eyes. Couldn't that stupid red idiot remember anything? "Our target is that man, John Blaze, the motorcycle stunt-man. We infect his mentor, the mortal he's currently talking to, with 'cancer', wait until he's completely in a grief coma, which knowing humans will be as soon as the diagnosis, and then we offer to 'cure' the old man for poor, mourning Johnny-boy's soul. Understand, dumbass?" the demon told his partner, slapping him upside the head. Belasco could make even the most simple, enjoyable job a complicated, hassled mess. Idiot.

"I understand, you overgrown elf! Need I remind you that Mephisto is...!"

"I could care less if Mephisto is your father! If we mess this up it's not exactly going to matter now, is it!"

Belasco growled but didn't say another word. The demons watched Johnny climb into his trailer after he finished the conversation, leaving the aging man all alone. Perfect. The man, who from psychic analysis was called Crash Simpson, sat down on a small bench and stroked a handlebar on his vintage motorcycle fondly. Nightcrawler nodded for Belasco to move in.

The horned creature crept behind Crash, footsteps unnaturally silent. He covered Crash's eyes and breathed a noxious purple smoke straight down his lungs. Crash immediatly collapsed. He quicklyset upthe timestop that they were given to avoid witnesses. They barely ever were given one, never mind two,but for some reason, Johnny's soul was so important, they needed him now, even if they had to perform in public areas with who knows how many prying mortals lurking about. Nightcrawler strode in, a gold box in his hands.

"Sure the living corpse is out?" he asked.

"I'm sure, you stupid smurf!" Belasco screeched.

"Keep it down, fool, or the whole damn place'll wake up."

"There's a timestop," Belasco muttered, peeved. The blue demon did not hear.

Nightcrawler opened up the box and took out the creature inside. At first glance it looked like a regular millipede. A closer look revealed it was an inch thick and eighteen inches long, jet black with red glowing inscriptions issuing a thin crimson smoke. An insect from hell.

Nightcrawler placed the small demon on Crash's chest and let it crawl into his mouth, into his lungs, and dissolve into instant cancer. The demons stood up to their full height, deactivated the timestop, and vanished into the night.

Suzy "Dynamite Girl" Morgan went out for a little fresh air. It was a warm night and she was famous in the show for being an incurable insomniac. She saw a figure lying on its side. Worried for the person, she turned the body to face her, and saw Crash barely breathing. She screamed bloody murder.

The rest of the stunt show, most of them in sleep-wear, ran out of their trailers to see what had bothered Suzy so. Johnny was first, as he had somewhat of a crush on her. Then he saw Crash.

Crash Simpson,the only father figure he ever had, dead? It was too horrible to even contemplate. Wait, was his chest moving? He was alive! Johnny looked at the crowd of performers.

"What are you waiting for? Get an ambulance!"

Nightcrawler and Belasco smirked. Johnny looked like he was going to have a coronary. So far, so good.

For Johnny time screeched to a halt. His mentor, his father, his best friend even, was barely clinging to life as the ambulance careened to the Salt Lake Hospital. This couldn't be happening, but it was. After a small eternity, the vehicle finally reached the hospital's E.R. The paramedics rushed Crash into a room while a doctor guided a fretting Johnny into the waiting room.

What seemed likemillenia passed.

A doctor in a white smock walked in, "Johnny... Blaze?"

Johnny was on the man in a flash, "_**OhmyGodisheokayishegonnadiewhatsgoingon!**_"

The doctor took a deep breath. He hated this part of the job, "Sit down, son. Listen, your old man, he's a smoker, right?"

Johnny nodded. You almost never saw Crash without a Pall Mall burning in his hand..

"Well, you see, all that tar collected in his lungs over the years and, well..."

Johnny plopped down like a a frog, "Lung cancer?"

The doctor sighed, "Terminal. I'm sorry, son."

Johnny couldn't move, couldn't _breathe_. It wasn't fair. This was impossible. The doctor was familiar with this, seeing many times before from different patient's relatives. Losing his father, poor guy. The doctor remembered when his own father had died, he'd stayed in his room for days, barely coming out, "Go outside and get some fresh air, son. Then you can go see your dad."

Johnny obeyed and crept out, lively as a zombie. As soon as he was out, the motorcyclist ran out of sight of the hospital. When he was sure noone could see our hear him, he dropped to his knees, faced the moon, closed his eyes, and cried his anguish out to the world.

"**_WHYYY!_** HE NEVER DID ANYTHING! PLEASE! I'LL DO ANYTHING FOR A WAY FOR HIM TO LIVE!** _ANYTHING!_**" He was sobbing.

"Anything?"

Johnny stood and spun around in a single fluid move, face to face with two demons. One blue with weird armor, the other red with horns and a cloak.

"Who are you two?" he asked in fear, crossing himself.

The blue one spoke, "Noone in particular. However, we do have a propisition for you, my mortal friend."

Johnny quivered, "What kind of propisition?"

The red one smiled, "Simple, human. We cure your precious surrogate daddy, and you give us your soul. No hidden fees, no monthly costs, just your pathetic useless soul. What has it ever done for you?"

Johnny backed up, "No, you're _lying!_"

The blue one smirked, "Tsk, tsk, tsk. You think we'd _lie_ to you? I'm hurt. If it helps, we'll cure the old fossil first, and _then_ we'll take your soul. Then you'll know we aren't cheating you out. That sound good?"

Johnny looked at the hospital. If they could really cure Crash..., "I'll do it," he croaked out.

The blue demon grinned, "Excellent."

* * *

Leaving the stuntman behind, Nightcrawler and Belasco teleported into Crash's room. Belasco snickered, "I can't believe he did that." 

Nightcrawler laughed, "Who knows why mortals throw themselves away for eachother, my hideous friend. They're mortals."

He leaned back on the wall thinking about what he'd do with mortals if it were up to him, they would all suffer greatly. After all, that was their purpose. To be the servants of the immortals, like himself. Pathetic, the lot of them. Why he'd...

"Would you just grab your pet already! I'm getting sick of this plane!" Good old impatient Belasco.

But he was right. Three days on this wretched plane waiting for the opportune momentand already being in a material body was becoming tiring. Nightcrawler held his tridactyl palm three inches over Crash's mouth.

**"RETURN."**

The hellish millipede reformed itself and crawled forth from the man's throat. Nightcrawler again sumoned the golden box and placed his servant back inside the box's confines. So far the job had been flawless.

The demons teleported back to the spot where Johnny was located and found him kneeling on the ground, praying and crying. Nightcrawler rolled his eyes. Pathetic.

"Get up. Your old corpse is cured. Time to uphold your end of the bargain."

Johnny stood up straight and tall. He was going to meet this as bravely as possible. Nightcrawler turned to Belasco, "Back away, you're no longer needed."

Belasco scoffed but again remained silent. Nightcrawler breathed deep and placed his hand on Johnny's chest. Since Johnny had given himself willingly, his soul was all theirs. Reaching in, he started to pull the man's soul straight from his body. Belasco had seen many of these and saw no need to witness another. For the first time in his eternal life, Belasco opened a door to hell during a soul-wrenching. Nightcrawler realized what was happening too late.

"Belasco, NO!"

The door wavered and contorted, attracted to the supernatural energy around Johnny's soul. Nightcrawler lept away quickly. The door and the soul connected for a moment, and then there was a huge flash of horrid red light. When the light dissapeared, the door was gone, leaving Johnny's soul floating halfway out of his suspended and arched body. But it was not alone. Something for the deep reaches of hell had attatched itself to the biker's soul. The soul and the entity sunk into the body, which promptly fell to the ground, completely unconscious.

Nightcrawler and Belasco both stared. Belasco gulped, "Was that..."

"The demon Zarathos, one of Mephisto's greatest nemisi? Yes. What a genius _you_ are."

This was it. They were screwed. Losing a soul, bad. Unauthorized possession by a powerful demon, _really_ bad. Both at the same time, torture beyond mortal comprehension. Nightcrawler roared and pinned Belasco to a tree.

"BELASCO YOU FOOL! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!"

Belasco was terrified. Nightcrawler was very powerful and he really did not fancy taking on the son of Azazel as well as his own father, "Listen, I had no idea this would happen, I only..."

"Do you actually think that matters! We are in a most inconvenient position and I seriously doubt Mephisto is going to go easy on you simply because you're his son!"

Nightcrawler teleported away. Back to home, sweet home Belasco expected. Well, he'd had fun as a top dog and there was no escaping his father's wrath. Sighing, he opened another door to hell and went home to face the music.

Nightcrawler sure as hell did not go back as Belasco had expected. There was no way he was going back, never. He'd rather put up with mortals for the rest of eternity. He'd gone to New York City. A large abandoned warehouse of it anyway. It was very empty, not even any street kids hanging about. He sat down with his back against a wall. Cursing his miserable, eternal life, he drifted off to a deep, nightmare-laced sleep.


	3. The City of Demons

Alright, I'm out of my straight-jacket and I'm done being brain-dead. Time for an update! And about the humor, sorry if it sounds forced. It's not. That's just how I write, and sounds way better said than written. Which sucks for me. Oh, well, enjoy! P.S. Is Ghost Rider showing up later? Maybe!

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**Chapter Two: The City of Demons**

Nightcrawler woke up abruptly. He was in so much trouble he could barely get his mind around it. His incompetent partner had completely obliterated a routine soul-selling and also unleashed Zarathos from his eternal bondage. But luckily, or unluckily depending on who you were, Nightcrawler had managed to stay on the material plane, avoiding the certain fate of his boss, Mephistopheles, torturing him until the Trumpets sounded, the Horsemen rode, etcetera. Even though avoiding being stuck through worse than a voodoo doll was good, the fact he was in the land of mortals was not.

He hated mortals. Outright _hated _them. Sure, a few hundred years back, torturing mortals was fun, but in this day and age, well, there was no gratification in brutalizing a sobbing screaming mass before you even touched them. But back in the old days when a human would put up a fight, now _there_ was some high-quality entertainment. Oh, well. Even if he'd prefer hiding in some quiet corner in Purgatory, you take what you get.

At least here the gruesome twosome couldn't get him. Mephisto and Belasco, what jokes. The father and son even rhymed a bit, how cute. Nightcrawler had a quiet chuckle. It was sort of funny.

No, the only person who could possibly find him now was his father, who as far as Nightcrawler knew wasn't looking for him right?

BAMF.

Wrong.

Right on the money, Azazel appeared right behind the blue demon. _Unbelievable_, Nightcrawler thought,_ Right on cue._

"There's no coincidence about it, my boy, I read your thoughts."

Ah. That would do it. But what was Azazel doing here? Why did he even care in the first place?

"Well let's see," the mind-reading trick was starting to wear on Nightcrawler's nerves and the red entity knew it, but the look on his son's face was priceless, "Going to New York and leaving Belasco to take the heat for fucking up that soul job was selfish, arrogant, underhanded, back-stabbing, and shameful. I'm proud of you. Not to mention that little stunt will probably take out a little out of Meth Lab's ego."

Azazel and Mephisto went back a few millenia. At first, Azazel had been a top-ranking archdemon. Life was great. And then, through slow rumors, Mephisto had managed to convince the other ones who ranked as high as Azazel that he was trying to usurp their positions. Azazel was driven out of his realm and given some backwater section to take care of and Mephisto got complete control of his realm. Nightcrawler knew this had something to do with that. No demon ever did anyone a favor without expecting a hefty price in return.

"What do you want me to do?"

Azazel smiled, "Smart boy. If you manage to stay under the radar, you will be essential to a plan I am concocting to take down a certain overconfident fool who thinks he can use my scion as his errand boy."

Nightcrawler looked at his father. Did he have a choice? "Fine. This had better be good."

"Oh it is, my son, it is, " he turned to leave, "And by the way, eighty-percent of fallen angels and other ethereal rejects reside in New York City, so you might want to try something a little less noticable like, say, the City of Angels?" With that, he left.

Nightcrawler was confused. Did Azazel just _help_ him? No, not really. It was for a selfish reason, which at least made some sense. At least there was always something to depend on in this messed up world. He gathered up his strength and teleported to a an empty boarding house in Los Angeles

It took him a while to steady himself. Just a bit of shock from everything. Usually this wouldn't happen, but unlike his ethereal incarnation, his mortal body had limits. He was immortal, technically, any time his mortal body was killed, he could just come back in another one. He was a demon. Where did he come from? Hell. Where was he going to go when he died. Hell. What was stopping him from coming back? Exactly. But now, he couldn't afford to die. Because now there was something stopping him from getting back. Mephistopheles. He couldn't afford to take chances on _anything._

Suddenly a voice streamed into his head, Azazel's. _You won't be good for anything if you don't get to sleep, my son. _He was out like a light.

Three days later, Nightcrawler finally opened his eyes. He was looking straight into a pair of deep blue ones.

"Whoa, you're up. Are you real?"

Nightcrawler backed away quickly and stared at this latest addition to a long line of troubles. It was a young man around eighteen, nineteen with dark skin contrasting with his eyes and badly cut, approximatley shoulder-length white hair. He was wearing typical street clothes. A black hooded sweatshirt with neon green stripes down the arms and sides, black camo pants, black Converse hightops, the like.

The demon stared at the kid even harder, "Who are you, boy?" he asked pseudo-threateningly.

"Roran Munroe, man. I'm nineteen, I've lived in here for the past three months, and I _so_ don't want you to kill me," the youth replied, focusing on Nightcrawler's very sharp looking teeth.

Nightcrawler grinned darkly, "And why shouldn't I, little boy? Give me one reason why I shouldn't rip you limb from limb," he whispered softly, grabbing Roran by the throat.

Roran was choking. He couldn't even put two recognizable syllables together. The world was floating away from him. Wait, no, the world wasn't floating, he was sinking. He was, in water? Maybe. He was slowly sinking. Down and down and down... Deep in the overwhelming dark...

Nightcrawler looked at Roran's unconscious body. He wondered whether or not he should finish off the brat. Then again, the twerp could prove useful as a lackey of sorts. Why do everything yourself when you could just get some other moron to do it? It always worked for his father and Mephisto. And although there would be little evidence to pinpoint him to the murder, a mysterious death might be of some interest to Mephisto.

The blue entity took a deep breath. He was getting soft in his old age. He set the teen on an abandoned bed and leaned against a wall.

The demon was going to regret this later. He just knew it.


	4. Strange Company

Sorry, I'm lazy. This chapter is a bit of shocker. Not a big shocker. Not even a full shocker. Just a bit of a shocker. When did I ever say Roran was Storm's son? Hee hee! Oh, and Nightcrawler's slightly sexist views are a result of his being a demon. (Girl here. I can't be a woman-hater!) He's not a nice guy in this fic. Not yet at least. Or maybe he'll stay bad. It all depends on how the storyline gets along. Please review!

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**Chapter Three: Strange Company**

Nightcrawler watched Roran, bored. Maybe he _should_ just cap the little runt and make it look like a random attack. These things happen. He wouldn't leave a trace of evidence pointing to himself. But Mephiso would undoubtly find some clue and drag him off to a world of hurt. He sighed. Sheesh, this kid didn't even move.

Didn't move?

The demon started to panic. What if the little prick was dead? Death by strangulation by an unusually soft rope. If the kid made _Forensic Files_, where EVERY DEATIAL of the murder was listed, Meth Lab's narcs would be on him like a teenybopper on a boy band singer. As much as he hated the idea, he would have to check if the little prat was alive.

He took off the boy's sweatshirt and shirt so he would have better access to his heart beat. A beat from the heart was far more reliable than from the neck or wrist in Nightcrawler's opinion. In truth, it had more to do with the fact that feeling a heartbeat through fuzz-covered fingers is not an easy feat. He immeadiatly froze. Roran was wearing what seemed to be a thin sport bra. WHAT?

That could only mean, no. It was just too wrong. Unfortunately, with his luck, there was no chance of Roran just being some sort of semi-demented whack job who enjoyed wearing women's undergarments. If he needed any further evidence, well, the suspicious lumps under the bra told him everything. No wonder the kid's clothes were so loose. Roran was a she-mortal.

Of course, the cross-dresser chose that moment to wake up, "Ugh, my neck..."

"He" saw a shocked Nightcrawler staring at "him" with eyes the size of dinner plates. What was wrong? There was also an uncomfortable chill around "his" torso. Huh? He looked down. Oh no.

"STAY AWAY!" She shrieked, pulling the blanket around herself.

Nightcrawler stared at the girl. He felt strangely angry. Probably all the stress he was under. Who was she and why was she a damn transvestite? One way to find out, "Who the hell are you and _why_ the _fuck_ are you dressed like a man? Answer or I will..."

"OKAY! OKAY! I get it! Just don't _touch_ me! Sick perv..." She hurridly shoved the shirt back on, trying to keep herself covered with the blanket at the same time.

He crossed his arms, "Fine. I'm waiting."

"Full story or summary?"

All she got was a clearly annoyed eyebrow raise and a clawed fist clenching.

"Okay, summary. Real name's Ororo, folks died in a terrorist bombing when I was four, lived early life in Cairo as a thief, realized from snippets of news broadcasts girl alone plus big city equals rape victim hence the drag gear, came here, got rid of my accent to avoid people thinking 'stupid foreign kid' and giving me a hard time, joined a couple of other rejects from society, came here looking for a new place for me 'n' my guys to crash, found you, that's it, I swear, don't kill me or whatever _else_ you were planning on," she never took a breath during her whole speech and nearly turned the same color as Nightcrawler.

The blue man sighed. This was not his lucky day. He would now have to dodge Meth Lab's "all-seeing gaze" and deal with female hormone-induced mood-swings. He didn't even get the one benefit of being around a woman. Well, he _could_, but the consequences were far too noticable. She could report it and he'd be on the radar. If she got pregnant, who knows what the kid would look like. Nothing like a blue tailed baby to get someone's attention. Couldn't kill her for aforementioned reasons. Keeping her close so she couldn't do any of the above would be too troublesome if he did what he was thinking of. You don't live thousands of years without realizing every single thing you do could bite you in the ass later on down the line.

He put his hand on his forhead, "So, who are these. . . _friends_ of yours?"

The newly revealed Ororo immeadiatly calmed down since Nightcrawler brought up a topic far from what she thought he was going to bring up. If she only knew what he had been thinking of just twenty seconds earlier, "Well, they're pretty weird, 'bout as weird as you. That's why I didn't flip when I saw you. One's Ryne Pryde, full name's Kathryne, I think. She's like twelve I'm guessing. Smart. Wears these frickin' huge gloves made out of metal she built that she says will make her be able to go untouchable like a ghost when she finishes 'em. Also wears these swim-goggles kinda things that some mage or whatever called Steve or something gave her that let's her see supernatural stuff. Don't ask me, I ain't got a frickin' clue. We call her Mech sometimes. Or Kitty if she's bugging us. She hates that.

The other one's some kinda vampire. Did it to himself. He's fifteen, name's Morbius, 'least that's what he said. He's also some kind of genius. Said he's a biochemist specializing in blood anomines, amolineyes, something starting with an A. He did some whacko Frankenstein experiments with vampire bats and electro-shock and is now a 'living vampire' or sumsuch. Did it because he saw in movies and read in books that chicks dig vampires and he was trying to impress this one girl, Margrin or whatever.. Looks like the phantom of the opera. He's now trying to cure himself. I'm the street-smart thief person who knows who every major people-person in the city is almost. So, yeah, you'll fit right in. The armor thing might come off as a little weird though, so we might have to raid a Sears or something to get you some 21st century gear."

Nightcrawler smirked and slowly morphed his "casual wear" into a light brown t-shirt and black jeans. Ororo's eyes widened, "Oh. That works too."

"I thought so, mortal girl. Now where are your dear little friends? If I'm going to be around them for as long as I'm here, I might need to know them."

"Going. Don't tell them I'm a girl. I know you don't know me and don't really owe me anything at all, but don't man," she put on her hooded sweatshirt and went out as Roran again, "It's weird," she mumbled to herself, "If this was a book, he'd find out I was a girl like right at the end, not right when he met me."

"Welcome to the real world, litle girl. It's nothing like the stories. And don't worry about my trying to take advantage of you. I'm not a big fan of women whohave no need to tie back certain assets when attempting to look like a gut," Nightcrawler answered, making "Roran" jump. Apparently the blue guy had hearing like Superman. Who knew what else he could do. Who knew what he was. Yish, she _really_ needed to stop reading so many supernatural novels. Even though, all in all, the guy was probably a demon or whatever. She sure wasn't going to ask him. No comment about the "asset" thing either. She liked having her head attatched to her neck.

* * *

Somewhere deep in a run-down Mexican restaurant that had gone out of business slightly before the rise of the Roman Empire, two very bored adolescent prodigies sat wondering where their fearless leader had gone. A pale teen of around fifteen with red eyes, longish black hair, a batlike nose, pointed ears, and clothes that looked liked he'd been shopping at the Crow's garage sale was diligently working over a variety of chemicals in test tubes, "Come on, baby, speak to me. Come on. I know you're in there, cure. Come to daddy."

A twelve year old girl wearing gloves that looked like metal uninscribed versions of Hellboys right arm, long brown hair held back with a pair of darkly tinted goggles, and trying to read a Sandman comic unsuccessfully rolled her eyes, "Spare me, Morbius."

He growled, "Up yours, _Kitty_. If I don't find a cure and _soon_, I might get hungry and take a midnight snack on your blood. I thought it would all be worth it if I could get Martine Bancroft to like me since vampires are supposed to have some sort of sexual aura, but nooo, not me."

"DON'T call me Kitty. I hate that damn nickname. And you can't touch a drop of my blood since Dr. S put some mumbo on you so if you drink good, well, not evil blood, your digestive tract will screw up something awful. And if I hear one more word about that girl you're hung up on, I'll shove a wooden stake so far up your a . . ."

"HEY, FELLOW PATHETIC EXCUSES FOR PEOPLE! PAPA'S BACK!"

The bickering "siblings" immeadiatly shut up and looked at the window. In it was the grinning face of their leader. He who stole them food, money, equipment, whatever they might need. They might be the geniuses, they might have power, but Roran was the man with the plan. Without him, they'd be dead in a gutter or off to an all-girls home ec. prep school.

He smiled, "Well, ladies and germs, I've got some good news and some bad news. Good news is I found us a new Batcave complete with a guy ready and willing to join our ranks. Bad news is the place is in a neighborhood where people call the cops and the tenant is also a bit of a jerk. So, seriously, don't piss him off. This means you, Ryne," the small brunette snorted and crossed her arms with some difficulty due to the gloves, "So everyone pack your crap and let us proceed."

* * *

Nightcrawler laid back on the bed with his two-toed feet propped against the wall. So Ororo was bringing over a few friends, eh? Interesting. Oh, he wouldn't tell the brats that their friend was a woman transvestite. He could need them to think she was a man later. Keep their little bond of trust secure in case it played to his advatage later. The kids seemed like experts at keeping under the radar and until now, he never really needed to.

He smiled. Oh, man, would Mephisto's face be priceless when he could never find hide or hair of the blue demon.


End file.
